


Midnight Angel

by WhiteRoseOfRivendell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkward, BAMF Cas, Boys Kissing, Classic Rock, Destiel - Freeform, Drunk Cas, Drunk Dean, Fluffy & Funny, Good times, Karaoke, Light Angst, M/M, My First Castiel/Dean Winchester Fanfiction, One Autumn Evening, One Shot, Pat Benetar Rules, Shadows of the Night, The boys need a karaoke night, seriously, tequila shots, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 22:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12517748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteRoseOfRivendell/pseuds/WhiteRoseOfRivendell
Summary: Set somewhere early on in our beloved show, this is a story of one brisk Autumn night and a band of three that chanced upon a small bar in a nowhere town. Perhaps mischief was the order of the evening, but it was music that would ultimately bring about a reckoning.Imagine Classic Rock, a few shots of tequila, and a night no one won’t soon forget.Inspired by the song Shadows of the Night by the incredible Pat Benetar.Won’t you say you will?





	1. Chapter 1

“Come on Dean, it’s late.”

Sam Winchester followed his big brother down the main drag of the town. The autumn air was crisp and cool now that the darkness had taken whatever afternoon heat had lingered. The navy sky hung clear and sprinkled with stars. It was a nice evening, he thought to himself in a moment of brief distraction. Despite what his chosen profession would let on, Sam liked the calm; he liked the quiet. Those times when he actually got to truly experience it were few and far between, but that just made them all the more valuable. It made him hold on to them all the tighter. 

The fact that Dean was getting further and further ahead brought him back from his slightly hazy musings. Sam sighed with a twinge of exasperation. He glanced back. Cas was not far behind. He knew the angel didn’t care about the hour, but his legs were weary and it had been a long day. The case they had finished was not the most difficult, but it was close to midnight and they had already been drinking for three hours at the local dive bar. A few quality beverages under his belt meant that the younger man was ready for a soft, well mostly soft, bed and some well-earned shut-eye.

Dean didn’t seem to even be listening. He had a whisky-induced bounce in his step and a smile that only came about when he was out for mischief. Suddenly his head turned. A pair of wood-framed glass doors opened. The melody to “Pour Some Sugar on Me” flew out from behind a couple leaving the edifice before them. As the pair stumbled past, talking and smiling, Dean looked to his two companions, a single eyebrow raised. He pointed to the slowly closing double doors. 

“This is the place,” he said, and grabbed the handles. The doors were once again flung open and the music greeted the elder WInchester as if he were Joe Elliot himself waltzing in to take over in the heat of the song.

Sam rolled his eyes and looked back at Cas, who just shrugged, clapped Sam on the shoulder, and followed Dean inside.

The place that they now found themselves in was not so much of a club, nor a dive. The modest bar hosted a few younger citizens of the town, and a few older. The walls were of a dusty grey stain and held a few well-placed posters of days gone by. It was nostalgia done right, not the overpowering build up commonly seen in “those places” that tried for flare instead of reverence. Immediately to the right of them was a poster from The Fillmore in San Francisco. It was from a day that Creedence Clearwater had performed there in 1969. Another one stood out from across the half empty room, Guns & Roses, The Appetite for Destruction tour, 1987.

“Awesome,” Dean said to no one in particular.

A stage was set at the front of the room, speakers framing the small space. A short, blonde-haired girl was walking up. She shyly turned around and picked up the microphone, preparing to sing. Directly across, and now to the left of the trio, was the bar. There was nothing special about it. Each shelf held the normal offerings, Bombay Sapphire, Ketel One, Johnny Walker Black, and of course, Johnny Red, among many others. The dim, warm lighting fixed above it shone on the bottles and made their reflections in the mirror behind seem ethereal. It was as if the bottles of distilled spirits ran far deeper than the shelves in which they perched. The only disruptions to this visage were the five taps and the pretty, black-haired bartender tending to them.

“Hi there,” Dean approached the bar, his usual flirtatious self. He couldn’t help it, especially with a few drinks under his belt. It was that very characteristic, in fact, that had managed to get those previous drinks of the evening for free.

“Hi yourself,” the girl smiled and leaned forward out of habit, her hands supporting her toned body on the stainless steel counter below the bar. 

“We heard some pretty awesome music coming from in here, couldn’t help but check it out.”

“Yeah, we have karaoke every Thursday night. It’s a blessing and a curse, ya know?” She smirked, “So what can I get for you?”

“We are out for a good time tonight..uhhh…,” he paused and raised his eyebrows.

“Liza,” came the carefully weighted, but sweet reply. It wasn’t her first rodeo with semi-inebriated men and their antics.

“Liza,” he repeated, “With a ‘Z’,” Dean chuckled at his own wit. The bartender just rolled her eyes and gave a sideways smile, “Anyway, three Cazadores for myself & the two mute gentlemen behind me.”

Dean turned and acknowledged Sam & Cas who had hung back watching the scene unfold. They now came to stand beside him, bellying up to the bar, as it were. Liza acknowledged them with a nod & a smile.

“Tequila, really?” Sam asked.

“I don’t believe I have had tequila before,” Cas chimed in.

Sam turned to look at the angel, “You drank a liquor store, Cas.”

At this, the bartender raised an eyebrow & snickered. The cute, dark-haired man looked out of place in the establishment. She could believe that he had never tried tequila, or at least not remembered it. There was an innocence about him, and yet his shoulders appeared to hold the weight of the world. His manner was curious. Perhaps he had gone overboard once, maybe there were a few stories behind those clear blue eyes. Though she knew better than anyone that this was a most common thing among adults, this man looked like the type who would carry embarrassment for it. He avoided eye contact, but gave a tight smile and looked away as if he could not find words. She took pity on him, thinking his lack of reply may be due to a walk of shame long ago.

“Three Cazadores, coming up. You guys need training wheels?” She asked, moving the conversation forward.

“Well, since my friend here apparently doesn’t remember the last time he tried tequila,” he gave a sharp look to Sam. Watch it. He then stood from the stool he had been leaning on & grabbed Cas’s shoulder, giving him a squeeze, “Let’s have those training wheels, and some Tabasco, if you have it.”

“So that’s how it’s going to be tonight,” Sam quipped in his straight-faced manor. It was more of a facetious statement of fact than a question, “Tabasco...”

Dean’s shit-eating grin said it all.

“What does Tabasco have to do with the tenor of the evening?” Cas asked, looking from one guilty party to the next.

It was Dean who chose to field the question, “It’s…” he thought a moment, “It’s like a tradition. When Sammy and I, along with a good portion of the world, order tequila toward the end of the night, it usually means that the party is going to run wild and late.”

“I see,” Cas replied, mulling it over, “And Tabasco makes it wild.”

“No,” Dean laughed, “That’s usually the tequila. The Tabasco just makes it tastier.” 

He put his arm around Cas’s shoulders and pulled him over next to him. The bartender had just laid out the shots, like a shining, salt-rimmed chorus line. Skirts of three-hour-old limes emitted a citrus fragrance that hit the trios’ noses just before the strong and creamy scent of the libation.

Cas was still mildly confused, but paid it no mind. He trusted Dean. He was willing to try new things…again. He sincerely did not remember the tequila from the liquor store, but then again, he had not cared to read the bottles. Tonight, he had promised to ‘hang out for a drink’ as Dean had put it, so he figured he was along for the ride. Besides, he may be a few shots ahead of the mortals, but his tolerance was much higher and he had barely begun to even feel the least bit ‘wild’.

Dean picked up the first shot, “Sammy,” he handed it to his brother.

“Cas,” Dean handed the second shot to the angel. Then he picked up the last one.

“The Tabasco has not been added,” Cas looked into his glass and back to Dean.

“Not in this one,” he smiled, “Not yet,” and in the same breath, “Salud,” he clinked his glass to Cas’s, followed by Sam’s, and tossed it back.

Sam and Cas followed suit and soon Dean was ordering another round.

“Give him a double this time,” Dean called to the bartender as she turned to grab fresh glasses from the wooden counter behind her.

“You sure?” She looked back over her shoulder, raven locks spilling over from their resting place.

“It’s fine,” Cas approved.

“He can handle it,” Dean joked.

Sam snorted.

Liza pulled down three rocks glasses this time. If this was the beginning to their little adventure here, she was going to be the prepared bar keep. She was glad that the limes were stocked, just in case the training wheels persisted throughout the night. Though she had the inkling that they would not. She poured. Count of five for the two taller gentlemen, and count of ten for the poor guy who didn’t know what he was in for. The three men picked up the glasses, raised, saluded, and knocked back another round. She couldn’t help but feel in that moment that she had underestimated the man in the trench coat. That handsome face with the five o’clock shadow hadn’t even flinched when the liquor hit his throat. It looked like he had swallowed nothing more than regular old water.

“How was that?” She asked incredulously.

Cas looked over the bar at her and said very plainly, “Very good, thank you.”

“There’s more where that came from. Hey...,” she looked to Dean and paused, eyebrows raised.

He got the hint, “Oh, yeah…uh Eddie,” he extended his hand.

She took it, “Pleasure,” Liza bent over the bar and mock lowered her voice, “So, why don’t you cut me a break on the rimming and start doing this traditional style.”

Dean swallowed, “I beg your pardon?”

She grinned impishly, “The salt. It’s a pain. Besides, you should be teaching your friend here right,” she slowly brought up her hand and licked just below the thumb where crystals of salt now laid. A shot was produced from behind the bar. Throwing it back, she came to look at Dean, a wink in her eye.

Taking a beat to get his thoughts straight, he shot his brother an evil glance, “What do you think Sammy? Is it time?”

“Let’s do this,” it was all in or all out time, and with tequila now running through his veins, Sam was all in.

The next round of shots came to cross the lips of the trio with ribbons of Tabasco winding down through the silver-gold liquid. The sting of the tequila was gone. A fire burned up slowly in their throats. Just as fast as it could rise, it was extinguished with the cold tang of lime juice.

“That’s what I’m talking about, Whoo!” Dean gave Sam a high-five.

Sam smiled back, allowing the effects of the tequila to take him away. His brother could be a right dick sometimes, but when he let loose, his silliness was one of Sam’s favourite characteristics. Perhaps this night would be best spent rowdy and uneven. There were many nights of early bedtimes and hard bedrolls to come. Tonight, they play.

******

“They have some good acts on their walls. CCR, Grateful Dead, Aerosmith, The Bangles,” Dean pointed around the room as they sat. Classic rock, was there anything better?

He leaned against the shiny, wooden bar, one leg still supporting a portion of his weight. Sam sat on his stool completely, feet hooked on the foot ring, knees bent, his back slightly hunched. Dean noticed that he often did this, probably to be on the same level as the other people in the room instead of towering above them. Anything to be a little less…freakish. He was always so conscious of the fact that he was different. Dean knew the truth, but still insisted on reminding his brother that freak was a relative term. Cas was stiff as always, but it was diminishing with the drinks they had fed him. He now half sat, half stood at the bar, mirroring Dean in an attempt to be casual. He succeeded in the way that he no longer appeared completely out of place.

“I went to a concert once,” Cas piped up.

“Oh yeah?” Dean replied, “Who did you see?”

“Mozart,” he said without missing a beat.

Dean snorted, “Well, rock me Amadeus,” with that he held up his glass & tossed back another shot.

Cas grinned back and followed suit. He was beginning to feel relaxed, comfortable. In the times that he had drank before, it was predominantly out of sorrow & guilt. This was different. He was happy. He was glad that he had been convinced to stay behind instead of hurrying off. He liked the tequila, and the way Dean licked the salt from his hand before each shot. He wondered why Dean repeated this ritual over and over. The bartender had called it “training wheels”. Dean certainly did not need any sort of training for consuming alcohol. Yet each time the rocks glasses were filled, ever so slowly it seemed, his tongue would part his lips and graze the side of his hand. Two shots ago, the man’s eyes had been staring at him as he did so. Cas had been speaking, but his voice had gotten lost. Thankfully, Dean hadn’t seemed to notice. This was a night of heavy drinking, even for him. His inhibitions as well as his vigilance had been somewhat loosened.

Sam had laid off a few shots ago. A young lady had come over and was now chatting him up. His manner was easy with her; not as easy as Dean’s was when he spoke with women, but the younger Winchester was sweeter and more genuine. He held a glass of water in his hand that nearly spilled every time he gestured as he shyly told one story or another. Cas watched him out of the corner of his eye, wondering about the differing behaviours humans exhibited depending on the company they were keeping at a particular moment. There was so much more movement and body language involved when one found another attractive. 

Just then Dean touched his arm, “You alright?”

Cas looked down at where his fingers rested and nodded.

Another singer took the stage, a young Asian man dressed in jeans and flip-flops. Presently, the melody of Hey Jude rose over the chattering crowd spread throughout the bar. The man’s voice was gentle as he began, yet soulful in its execution. A few people began to sway a bit and the mood in the bar calmed. The bartender even went over to a control panel on the wall & dimmed the lights. The only brightness left was cast on the smiling, dark-haired man as he looked around the room with masked sadness. Dean & Cas heard Liza telling another patron that the singer was a regular, particularly on nights when karaoke ran. He captivated the room every time, earning applause from drunk and sober alike, then returning to his companions with humble shyness.

“He’s pretty good,” Dean commented, “Not a huge fan of The Beatles, together or separate though.”

“They were very popular, I’ve heard. You normally like music from that era, why not them?” 

Dean thought a moment, “Overrated, I guess. I just could never really get into them. Now, give me some AC/DC or some Pat Benetar…phew…” he breathed, “that’s awesome.”

“Pat Benetar, I have never heard of him, but I have heard some of your AC/DC music. I have found it to be somewhat…awesome,” Cas paused before the last word, as if trying it out for size. He gave a shy, crooked smile.

Dean laughed, “I’m glad you agree, but Pat Benetar is no dude. She is hot. Come on, you’ve never heard Hit Me With Your Best Shot? Love Is a Battlefield?”

“From her choice of titles, she sounds like a soldier,” Cas replied.

Dean sighed, throwing his hands in the air, “You’re missing the point Cas,” He leaned on the bar and came in closer to the angel, intent in his explanation, “It’s good music, great music. It touches your heart and makes you want to sing along with it. You know...rock out to it.”

“Hence the karaoke,” Cas answered, pleased with himself.

“Man, when she sings Shadows of the Night, I swear, it hits you right here,” he put his palm against his chest, “Right in the soul, you know?” He stole a sideways glance at Cas and smiled wistfully.

Cas laughed at the human, “Dean, I can assure you it does not touch your soul, I have seen…”

“Figuratively, Cas,” Dean interrupted.

“Oh, right,” he played it off in a fairly inebriated, but keeping-it-cool way.

Dean leaned back in, just as inebriated, if not more so, “Finish your sentence,” he said quietly, his eyes wavering.

“What?”

“You heard me,” therein was the challenge in his voice.

Cas thought for a moment, a confused look on his face. He was trying to remember what he had been saying a moment ago, but it seemed to have left his mind, “I don’t…”

“You were saying that you had seen my soul,” he interrupted again.

Cas looked surprised, almost affronted, “Of course I have, you know that.”

“I know, I know, when you raised me from…” just then Liza walked by, he lowered his voice, “You know where. I’m talking about after.”

Cas straightened with overly exaggerated pride, “I am an angel of the Lord. I see many things. I have never known it to bother you before tonight,” his eyes bore holes straight into Dean.

“I’m not…it doesn’t,” Dean backpedaled. “I’m just, you know, curious as to what you could see…have seen,” he corrected, “You know, what you look at,” he stopped. He was rambling & decided it was better to shut his mouth before he dug his drunken arse any deeper.

“I see,” the angel grinned, “Then maybe you should start asking the right questions. The ones that you are seeking the answers to,” he challenged back.

Dean stared at the raven-haired immortal in front of him. The air became heavy between them. Was Cas flirting? He wondered. His breathing quickened and the words behind those hurried breaths begged to come forward. But they were not allowed here. Dean would not allow those words here. He was not sure if they were really words at all. Each of them held more than any word he had ever spoken. And he couldn’t say them, not to him.

Just then, Liza appeared behind the bar beside them. The tones in her voice crashed down between them like a tidal wave, “Another one, gentlemen?”

This time, it was Cas who answered, “Yes please,” he turned back to look at Dean, a mischievous grin adorning his face, “With training wheels.”

As the bartender released the drinks into their custody, Cas took the salt shaker and lightly dusted the inside of his wrist. He glanced back at Dean and slowly licked upward, stopping just short of his palm. The movement had only taken a second, perhaps two at the most. In Dean’s eyes, however, seeing that tongue rub against such flawless skin, it made his time in Hell seem like a blink of an eye. Involuntarily, his head leaned to one side, as if he had forgotten how to control his neck completely. He eyed the angel’s mouth, transfixed by the events unfolding. The crystals of salt, the tequila washing over his lips, the white of his teeth being replaced by the green lime he now sucked on, it was all so intoxicating.

The attention did not go unnoticed. A triumphant smile paraded across the angel’s face.

“Aren’t you going to drink?” Cas asked, cocking his head to one side to mirror his friend’s.

Dean snapped to attention, but the vision was still rolling around in his brain, “I...I, uh...yeah. I mean, actually, I’m ok. Do you..” he began to ask, “Here, you take it,” and placed the glass in Cas’s hand.

“Are you certain?”

“Absolutely,” he watched once more as Cas performed the ritual. It was immaculate. 

Though he tried his best not to allow his reverence to show, he could not help but stare. Reverence, he decided. That was what it was. It was the perfect word for it. The angel who now sat before him, for all his faults, was good and brave. He was dedicated and loyal, even at times when it was not outwardly apparent. Cas was honest and strong; he was willing to die for what he believed in. These were all things that Dean Winchester respected. They were important things, things that were not to be ignored, things that were to be considered and loved. 

He was lost in his reverie, his ephemeral thoughts becoming his company. Though soon he became acutely aware once more that there were, in fact, other people in the room. This became blatantly evident when one of them tried to get his attention, namely Sam. The girls that he had been talking to had gone to sit with a few friends of theirs that had arrived. They were all hammered at this point and happily scanning through the karaoke book. Sam was smiling to himself as he people-watched.

“That’s going to be a train wreck of a song,” he laughed.

Dean retorted with a shake of his head, “Let’s just hope they don’t choose I Will Survive,” Sam’s voice had snapped him out of his thoughts abruptly, but they continued to rattle inside his mind. After a few minutes of conversation with his brother regarding bad karaoke song choices, they became prominent once more. He turned back around, “In case you didn’t...” he stopped. Cas was no longer sitting next to him, “Where’s Cas?”

“I don’t know, bathroom?”

Dean shot Sam a look and rolled his eyes, “The bathroom? Really? For what?”

Sam shrugged and smiled. He had no idea where Cas had gotten off to, but he was not worried about it. Even a drunk angel can handle himself, mostly. He and Dean began to talk about one thing or another. It was the kind of drunken banter that happens in the after hours of the evening. One subject lead to another with many interruptions, including a break for yet another shot of burning alcoholic deliciousness. Before long, the brothers were laughing hysterically, a seemingly tall tale of yesteryear flying to the wind, along with three sheets.

Suddenly, the lights illuminating the little stage went out. The crowd mildly paid attention, but Sam & Dean were immediately on alert. That is, until Sam looked over and saw Liza standing at the control panel once more. He nudged Dean, nodding in the direction of the bartender. Dean relaxed a bit and sat back onto his bar stool once more, until a deep voice rose over the chatter. 

“We’re running with the shadows of the night,  
so baby take my hand, it will be alright.  
Surrender all your dreams to me tonight.  
They’ll come true in the end.”

The voice was beautiful, smooth, almost...

“Oh shit,” Dean’s eyes went wide as the lights once again lit up the stage and the familiar music came in strong. Sitting on the lone stool, microphone in hand, was Cas. His head was tilted down and to the left, haloed by the soft light. His eyes rose to seek out the audience as he began the first verse. Unbeknownst to the room, it was those blue eyes that would be his audience’s undoing.

“You said, oh girl, it’s a cold world  
when you keep it all to yourself.  
I said you can’t hide on the inside  
all the pain you’ve ever felt.”

He got up forcefully from his seat and grabbed the air above him. Bringing it down to his chest, his stare intensified and the words flew out unabashed.

“Ransom my heart, but baby don’t look back  
‘cause we got nobody else.”

The move got a chuckle from the Winchesters.

“Did he just...?” Sam asked with mild disbelief.

“Yes...he did,” Dean answered, a smirk on his lips.

The angel took a few skip-steps to stage right, stopping in front of a small group of people sat at the two tables nearby. He leaned down a bit, his body beginning to move in time with the music.

“We're running with the shadows of the night.  
So baby take my hand, it'll be all right.  
Surrender all your dreams to me tonight.  
They'll come true in the end.”

Sam began to outright laugh. This was too much. How did Cas even know this song? Nonetheless, he was rocking out to it and he was good. The angel had charisma on the stage, something that was lacking most of the time in Sam’s opinion. He clapped for his friend and gave a low whistle. Looking to the left, he was surprised to see people trickling in off of the street. They fanned out to the tables and bar. They came in to listen, he realized. The sonorous voice called out from behind the heavy front doors making it impossible for them to pass without entering to see who it was that was creating such divine music. The angel may be a little slow on the uptake for some things, but for karaoke, he was a quick study. This was entertaining as all get out. Sam sat back to enjoy, ordering another round of beer while the show went on. 

Dean was not so enthusiastic. Though perhaps there was another word to describe it. He was caught off guard, for sure. He was most definitely entertained, but his heart had sped up so quickly in his chest that he sat perfectly still, waiting for the thumping to cease. Reverence, he repeated to himself once more. That was the word for it. The only one he would allow, so that is what it must be. The way that Cas moved with the rhythm, it was like he had done this all his life. It occurred to Dean that Cas had lived a long time and, whether by experience or divine gift, it came naturally to him. Still, it took until the second verse for the elder Winchester to realize that he had not been breathing for some time. He let out a careful breath so as not to let on that there had been any previous deficiency. 

Sam, of course, did not miss the exhale. Instead of razzing the poor guy, he just shoved a beer in his hand & clinked the top with his own. After a long swig, he leaned in to speak over the music.

“I can’t believe Cas is singing karaoke,” he laughed, “And he’s not half bad!”

Cas had come back to the center of the stage and now looked around, his voice lowered ever so slightly, a hint of sorrow lacing the words.

“You know that sometimes, it feels like  
it's all moving way too fast.  
Use every alibi and words you deny,  
that love ain't meant to last.”

His eyes caught Dean’s and would not let go. He saw the man sitting motionless and silent across the room. There seemed to be no reaction on his face, but those eyes spoke volumes. The microphone was set back in the stand with care. He lifted his shadowed chin and sang forcefully. 

“You can cry tough baby, it's all right  
You can let me down easy, but not tonight.”

Cas smiled and threw off his trench coat, leaving it discarded on the floor. He grabbed the stand, bringing it close to his mouth. Bending forward, he belted out the lyrics. It was a perfect mirror of yesteryears gods of rock, who took the stage to amaze and evoke what nothing else could. The crowd cheered.

“We're running with the shadows of the night.  
So baby take my hand, it'll be all right.  
Surrender all your dreams to me tonight.  
They'll come true in the end.”

A little air guitar followed during the abridged solo, no doubt a nod to Dean’s own penchant for imaginary instrument playing. Sam threw back his head and laughed. The jest had certainly not been lost. Soon Dean joined in, rubbing his reddening face. Cas knew him better than he thought. The younger Winchester let out a whoop, which was promptly followed by his elder counterpart cat calling.

“Yeah, Cas!”

Laughter played on their faces and they leaned against the smooth wood of the bar, regarding their friend. Cas’ smile now spread from ear to ear. It painted a picture of what was inside of him; past the apocalypse, past Heaven and Hell, past the shame, the uncertainty, and the masks of security that covered them. It was joy, it was humor. It was someone who had begun to find the true pieces of himself in the most peculiar of places. On the road, riding in the backseat of a black Impala for no good reason other than the pair of brothers in front of him had asked, because Dean had asked. That’s what began it. From there, he found each piece that he didn’t even know was missing. And now, it was that free will which had lead him to this stage, in the wee hours of day, singing a song he never knew existed, to an audience and a man who would never forget it.

“We're running with the shadows of the night.  
So baby take my hand, it'll be all right.”

He tapped his heal, shoulders moving in time as he made love to the microphone. Cas closed his eyes and let the song take over.

“Surrender all your dreams to me tonight.  
They'll come true in the end.”

He gripped the microphone with desperation.

“And now the hands of time are standin’ still..”

Cas’ hand reached out toward his captive audience, his eyes pleading.

“Midnight angel, won’t you say you will..”

No beat was missed, save for the one in Dean’s chest. Those eyes, they were for him. 

“We're running with the shadows of the night.”

The lights flashed upon Cas, his arms raised, a pair of perfect wings in shadow behind him. And to the normal crowd getting to their feet and cheering, shadows they were. Even to the pretty, young bartender whose hand lurched from the wall by the control panel, startled by what was certainly not any doing of hers. Only two patrons saw the truth. One who whistled and hollered at his friend, and the other whose instinct set him from his chair, concerned for who else may have seen. But he stopped just three small steps from where he had been. For Cas was still singing, and his face told Dean that there was no danger. 

 

“So baby take my hand, it'll be all right.  
Surrender all your dreams to me tonight.  
They'll come true in the end.”

Dean relaxed and joined his brother in cheering for the angel who was giving it his all on stage. Cas danced across the platform as the crowd went wild. Who knew so many people in this sleepy little town were even awake at this hour, much less inclined to be ushered in off of the street by an eighties rock song. The humid air hummed around them, pulling them together, allowing them to experience each note as it pierced their hearts.

“We're running with the shadows of the night.  
So baby take my hand, it'll be all right.  
Surrender all your dreams to me tonight.  
They'll come true in the end.”

And he repeated the chorus once more, coming to stand slightly off center stage in profile, his breath heavy, arm outstretched, face filled with joy.

“We're running with the shadows of the night.  
So baby take my hand, it'll be all right.  
Surrender all your dreams to me tonight...”

He trailed off. His eyes were still fixed on one certain person, whose own eyes would not shift. His arm lowered, followed by his hand. The smile disappeared momentarily and he seemed to search for something. But soon he was snapped back to reality by the crowds’ hollers. Cas acknowledged them. He smiled and shook hands with the various people who threw compliments his way as he descended onto the floor. Maneuvering to his friends, he sucked in a breath and waited.

“Dude, Cas, where did you learn how to do that?” Sam asked enthusiastically.

Cas shrugged, “MTV?”

Sam looked at Dean, who looked back, eyebrows raised. They both burst into laughter, grabbing the angel by the shoulders and patting him on the back. Cas, still a bit flush, joined in the amusement. He was glad the brothers had liked it. He could not remember a time when he had so much fun singing. It must have been ages. Now, with the aroma of tequila penetrating his senses and the heat of the bodies in the room, he realized what music accomplished for humans. It was a commonality, something everyone felt that they were a part of. Music was not something to command here as it was in Heaven, it was something that commanded you. It could get inside of you no matter the situation, yet it could be shared between its listeners, no talent necessary. He put his arm around Dean and gave him a broad smile. 

Dean smiled back. There was a twinkle in his eye, which may have been the tequila, but then again...

The night began to wind down and the trio decided to to call it. As they opened the doors and let the cool night air brush past their tequila ridden faces, more rock n’ roll came flowing out from behind them. The karaoke would continue, the music would continue. They headed up the street, not knowing if the beat in their heads and the rhythm in their step was the alcohol or the music. Still, the trios’ smiles would not fade. They walked back to the dilapidated house tripping over their own feet and reminiscing over the nights events.

******


	2. Surrender Your Reality

A descending moon shed its weary light over the abandoned house that stood washed out and alone at the end of a rural-looking stretch of road. The windows were boarded up, as were the doors. It had not stood bereft of life so long that the entirety of the structure wasn’t in tact, but the paint fell off in chips at the slightest touch and the floors creaked under any weight put upon them. Once, it had probably been a lovely house. The land around it was green enough. The two stories and large porch would have made it perfect for a family. But something had gone wrong here, and now it was left to its own devices. And of course, to play host to a trio who had nowhere else to go and were glad for the shelter it provided.

Sam, Dean, and Cas stumbled into the house. Dean locked the door behind them and immediately walked toward the kitchen. He turned on a small lantern set on the tile countertop. It’s light barely illuminated the room, but combined with the blue-white light of the street lamps, it was sufficient. He turned back around to face his companions.

“Man, I’m starving. Do we have anything to eat?” Dean came to search in a bag that had been left on the old, wooden center island. A minute & an exuberant a-ha later, Dean held up a packaged muffin, “Sammy, you want to split this?”

Sam had hung back near the living room. His shoulders had slumped slightly and he leaned to one side, “No, I’m good. I’m just going to head to bed,” he turned & began to climb the stairs, a fatigued yet happy look on his face.

“Ok, ’night Sam,” Dean leaned forward over the island’s counter & half-whispered to Cas, “I wasn’t going to share anyway.”

“I heard that,” came a deep voice from upstairs.

Dean smiled. He proceeded to open the package with his teeth. As he did so, he remembered that he was thirsty as well. Tequila will do that to a body. He bent down to the cooler at his feet, opening it to grab a water bottle. Just then, another thought snapped to mind.

“Cas, you want to split...”

Right as he began to rise, his head hit under the splintering countertop of the island. A sharp pain shot through the crown of his head and he grabbed it instinctively. After a moment of deep breaths and half-murmured curses, he straightened up. Cas had come around the side to check what had happened.

“Are you alright?” He asked, concerned.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” he rubbed his head a bit. It still stung. When he brought his hand down, there was blood smeared across it. It took him a minute to register what was going on. The copious amounts of alcohol were not helping the situation, nor was the dim light. He bent down to examine the old two by four holding up the counter. A nail was sticking out at a diagonal. He must have hit it just so for it to cause a gouge in his head. He stood up once more, but the change in elevation made his head swim for a moment and he fell back against the yellow tile countertop that ran along the walls of the kitchen.

Cas was next to him immediately, clutching his arm and putting a hand to his neck to steady him. He did not want another hit to his friend’s head and the edge of the cabinets behind them were at just the right height.

“You’re not fine,” Cas admonished.

Dean sighed, “It’s ok. I’ll be fine. Side effect of tequila & Tabasco night,” he joked.

“Let me look, at least,” Cas moved forward, running his hand up Dean’s scalp, his other moving to cup the juncture of Dean’s neck and shoulder. The position was far from precarious, however the tequila must have affected the angel as well because his balance faltered momentarily. He recovered quickly, but he was obliged to take a step, which landed between Dean’s boots. Their bodies lurched together. Dean’s brow wrinkled and Cas’ face went apologetic, “Sorry.” 

He leaned further over, not caring to correct his position. His face was mere inches away from Dean’s as he felt the gash.

Dean was about to give him another speech on personal space, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the tequila or the night, but he didn’t mind so much having Cas close to him. It was actually a little comforting. Cas felt warm and his touch was gentle. It’s not as if they had never touched before. Dean had just made sure it was never too much, or too close. There was space to maintain, and appearances. Still, late nights were a bit of an excuse, an exception to the rule. The angel was only trying to help him after all, his friend. He knew Cas could fix his head, but he didn’t want to have to have him bother. It was only a small cut. But if it made him feel better to look, then...

“Ow!”

Dean hissed. The wound began to close as Cas’ touch healed the hunter. The pain was now gone, the issue and distraction abated. Now Dean was even more acutely aware of the strong body leaning against his own. He sucked in a breath and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse.

“Thanks, Cas.”

The angel’s eyes squinted as he regarded the man. His hands had not left their resting places. His chest was pressed against Dean’s, just below his heart and he could feel it beating fiercely. He could feel the rise and fall of his body as Dean breathed. He studied the mortal face before him. Though his wound was healed, the man still seemed to be in distress. Cas looked into his eyes for signs of pain, but found none there. He was greatly confused.

“Does it hurt?” He asked, his face so close to his friend’s that they shared breath.

A heavy, but necessary pause permeated the already thick air around them. Dean swallowed hard. And then, like a cracked dam let go, came the reply, “Oh God yes.” 

The reference was not to the wound now miraculously healed. It was to the space between them that this very evening had become nonexistent. It was being so close to someone that his heart had silently and constantly ached for. He hadn’t even realized that he needed the angel so much until the space that he never allowed to diminish was swallowed up by a few drunken and misplaced steps.

Dean kissed the angel then. His lips soft, yet firm against their target, pushing Cas back. He waited for the response. His body wanted a response, some force to put him back into his place. A heat began to burn within him and it seemed to fill the room. A need set fire inside, a sensation that he had never known with anyone else he had been with. He thought it had been there with Lisa, but that had left him so quickly that he felt compelled to convince himself that it remained. He wanted so badly for the life he thought he could have with her. That had been a dream. This was his life. This, right here, at four in the morning in an abandoned house after another successful case, with an angel by his side. The suburban ideal may have been his dream, but holding Cas in his arms now was real. This was something he realized that he wanted, that he would not have to convince himself was real. Instead of his dream becoming a reality, in that moment, his reality became his dream. He was floored and at the same time enchanted by the overwhelming realization that a dream that he didn’t know was inside of him, was coming true. That this was possible. 

His mind went hazy as his thoughts flip-flopped back and forth.

The angel was not impervious to the sudden and unexpected heat that begged him closer. Intimacy was not something that he was wholly acquainted with, yet he found it to be most intriguing. He had never quite understood the emotional mechanics of it all. Yet here he was, and everything within him felt like he was falling, again. He burned, he needed, he wanted. Cas felt Dean completely now. He had always felt him from within, now he touched him without. Hesitant hands slowly ran over Dean’s neck and shoulders as they kissed. They moved further down to feel his chest. That body; merely seeing it day after day could not compare to the feel of it under his fingers. Dean was responding as well. Cas found him leaning into his touches, and he liked it. He wanted more of it. His hands roamed down to waiting hips. He clutched them, feeling the slanted bones anxiously shifting under taught muscles. Cas leaned in to allow his body to rest upon Dean’s, and then he pushed. 

Dean smiled.

They moved back and forth like that for some time, the friction intensifying. Silent challenges were offered and accepted. At an undetermined point, Cas had come to rest in between Dean’s legs. Dean had pulled him in tighter as he did so and they stood pressed against each other. Cas moaned as he felt himself stir against Dean. The man was hard, and he now understood what it meant to be aroused, for he himself ached.

He moaned, Dean thought to himself, Oh God, Cas moaned. 

Head dropping back, he breathed in the warm air of the kitchen like a man who had been underwater far too long. 

“Cas...” he breathed, eyes closed, head still resting against the cabinets. He was trying desperately to not lose composure. He could not get the sound of Cas’ pleasure out of his thoughts. If it continued, he would soon be undone.

The angel drew back. Though what was occurring felt right, almost natural, he knew that it was entirely possible that Dean had just had a moment of misjudgment. That he was not interested in the interaction, not interested in him. After all, his vessel was male. Humans could be strange that way. Though he may feel something for Dean, the sentiment may not be returned in the same way. Gender and societal roles played a part in this. Dean often felt compelled to adhere to these roles, these expectations. However, he was not adhering to them now. Everything about how he moved called out for Cas’ affections. Yet the tone of his voice pleaded for him to halt. Or perhaps he was pleading for something else. The knack for knowing things such as this escaped the angel and his nebulous thoughts were not helping. He wanted so desperately to understand human behaviour, but the study was ongoing and Dean was a most unusual individual. He did not know what was going on inside that beautiful head of his and he promised long ago that he would not invade that privacy. Cas braced himself for rejection, not sure how he even felt about it. Though, an uncomfortable ache was already creeping into his heart.

“Dean, I’m sorry. I didn’t...” Cas began. The ache turned to a deep pain in his chest.

Dean cut him off sharply, his eyes and head snapping to attention, hand gripping the loose cloth of the ever-present trench coat, “No, Cas. Don’t do that. I can’t...it’s not...” 

His grip lessened as he stood vexed. His clutching hands moved as if they could speak for him. Yet they could not tear themselves away from the form in their grasp for fear that the dream would prove false and the vision of his dark angel would disappear into thin, cold air.

“You cannot think of me in this manner. I understand.”

“What?” Dean choked out, “Cas, that’s not it. I....you really can’t see it?”

Dean’s eyes were sincere, almost supplicating. Cas stopped and allowed himself to be pulled back. With permission given, he now peered cautiously into the mortal soul. But he needn’t have traveled far, for the answer was all but immediate. Dean wanted him. He wanted him desperately. The energy between them was all consuming. Cas’s beautiful blue eyes stared at him. Even in the dark, they were as pools in the sunlight. He hoped that the man before him could see the reflection below the surface.

Dean stared back, thinking of everything that could possibly be said in that moment, yet nothing would stay in his mind. Those eyes pulled him in. He found a world beneath that he had never considered could be his, a world that had been his all along. It took an endless moment for him to be able to speak again.

“Come with me?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Cas regarded him and answered in the profoundly honest way that only an angel could.

“Anywhere.”

******

The floor was hard and the room cold, but to the pair wrapped in each other upon the thin bedroll, it did not matter. Castiel’s hands caressed Dean’s face and, every so often, he would move forward and place a kiss on him. Each time it was in a different spot, as if he was committing the planes of his face to memory. Inwardly Dean smiled each time, but his expression showed only awe and reverence. That’s what it was after all, he repeated to himself, for the umpteenth time that evening. Only this time, it came without hesitation. It came without fear. It came without the space that he had always maintained. It came with...

“I love you,” Dean’s words rasped out before he could stop them.

Castiel regarded him, his face soft and open. He had never heard Dean speak those words. They sounded more natural than he would have thought coming from the often gruff and surly young mortal. They fit him perfectly and Cas, in that moment, could not understand why he did not convey those thoughts more often. They were better than any song he had heard on high and he felt strangely as if he were not in his vessel at all, but existing once more as a being of light. Soon he noticed that Dean had looked down and the angel realized that in his musings, he had taken too long to respond. He had not meant to, it was just that those three words had rarely been spoken to him. This time, they were spoken by Dean Winchester. In his mind, he was cherishing it.

Now the time for words had passed and he found himself pulling his lover closer to him as his beseeching response. Dean refused to look up. Cas could feel him bracing himself. Then there was a stark realization. Dean thought that Cas was rejecting him with his silence. After everything, he still could not believe that Cas was capable of truly loving him back. That there were no lines to be crossed that would ever make him love him any less. Perhaps there were things that the angel still did not understand, but he would learn. He would learn and he would grow, and Dean would never want for his affections. He kissed the man’s forehead, then scooped his chin up, forcing Dean to see his eyes. I love you as well, they said. Dean relaxed into him, his own eyes shining. Castiel kissed them each in turn and wiped away the small beads of tears that escaped from the pressure. He took his lips in his own, putting everything he had into the action. He wanted Dean, he loved Dean, and he did not want Dean to ever doubt that.

******

Morning came and went. Sam had gotten up earlier than the two sleeping beauties in the ground-floor bedroom. A vision, by the way, that all of the angels in existence could not burn out of his eye sockets. Nonetheless, knowing the hangover that was in store from the identical one he was now nursing, he went out to get breakfast. Sitting around the table was a bit awkward, but luckily Sam had brought his laptop & was listing a few possible cases that were less than a day’s drive away. Cas announced that he had to get back to Heaven, but he would try to meet them at some point soon. Sam noticed that Dean’s face had fallen slightly at the news.

By the time mid-afternoon had rolled around, the Winchesters were almost ready for the road. Dean was out by the Impala loading their bags into the trunk. Sam was carrying the last of their belongings out when he heard a familiar tune rising over the hood. He snickered to himself as he walked closer. The mumbled lyrics to Shadows of the Night met his ears with a happiness rarely heard from his elder brother. Dean shut the trunk suddenly and a hint of embarrassment flashed on his face when he saw his brother in such close proximity. He quickly recovered.

“Ready to go Sammy?”

“Yeah, all set. You, uh, going to say good bye?” He thumbed behind him toward a certain dark-haired angel standing on the steps of the old house.

Dean gave Sam a hard look and pursed his lips. Of course he was going to say good bye. That was nothing new. It was just plain courtesy. Dean walked over, stopping at the foot of the stairs, hands in his pockets. 

“Hey, we’re...uh...we’re heading out,” he stammered, stating the obvious. He wished he didn’t sound so awkward. This was Cas after all. Why was he so uncomfortable?

“Yes,” A well hidden forlorn affirmative. Cas looked out over the stretch of green field beside the road, “I will be heading out as well,” his eyes found Dean’s then, “Thank you for forcing me to go out with you two last night, though I may stay away from the temptation of tequila for quite some time.”

It was a half-hearted attempt at a joke with a forced smile to accompany it.

“Well, when you run with the shadows of the night...,” Dean smiled cheekily and stepped up to give Cas a whack on the arm.

He gave a sideways grin and replied, “I am never going to live that down, am I?”

Dean looked back at Sam, who’s amused smile was thwarting his attempt at looking like he was not watching the interesting exchange. Then he looked back to his angel.

“Yeah, no...never.”

They each smiled & looked at the ground, as if the visage of each other’s merriment would overthrow all sense of duty. That the world would cease to matter and they would not be able to part. This could not be the case, and would not be the case. Each being had their own business to attend to no matter how it grieved them. They would part ways feeling a bit less for it, but a great deal more whole in the long run. This was the way it must be, for now.

“Goodbye, Dean,” Cas’s voice shattered the air around them. It felt so final, yet his heart told him it was not.

Dean stepped up once more, now standing on the porch in front of Cas. He sighed, conflicted. A kiss was what he wanted, but with Sam standing mere yards away, well, he was just not ready for that. A handshake would not do either. It was too formal and sent the wrong message. He and Cas were no longer friends. The bond that they had felt since close to the beginning of their relationship was stronger and, more importantly, acknowledged. He settled on a bear hug. He did not give these lightly and he hoped Cas had picked up on that trait through their years of acquaintance. He hoped Cas would see what he meant and feel it in his arms. When they parted, he knew his meaning was clear; he saw in Cas’s eyes the same love that he saw the night before. It was the same look that took away his speech and his breath.  
This time was no different. He could not say the words. He could not bring himself to say goodbye.

Instead, there was a nod and an anxious step back, hands once again shoved into his pockets. He almost tripped down the stairs as he tried to leave, but recovered trying to not look like some awkward teenager. The walk to the car seemed to take forever. It was so long that he was compelled to look back to his angel. That beautiful creature that stood unwavering on the porch of the dilapidated house.

Castiel had not moved. His eyes had not left his love. They had followed him to the sleek black Impala sitting in the dirt driveway. Dean opened the door and paused before taking his seat on the driver’s side. Sam had already gotten in, ready to get on the road. As the car drove away, it’s rear view mirror caught sight of a dark-haired, trench coat-clad man with a sigh on his lips and an invisible arrow in his heart. Then he was gone, and the car was gone. There was silence following them, but this time it was not lonely space, but a surrendering of dreams.

The End


End file.
